Those Left Behind
by SiriusFan13
Summary: Takes place years after the series ends. One character of Rurouni Kenshin dies. This is a deathfic, but please don't hold that against it. It isn't all weaping and wailing!
1. The Price of Peace

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own anything _Rurouni Kenshin_ or_ Samurai X _(although I must say, I wish I had Hiko!) - - _blush_ - - Did I say that out loud?_

* * *

**The Price of Peace**

_(Takes place sometime after end of the series)_

Hiko Seijuro couldn't say what was different that day. He awoke early enough to watch the sun rise. He made his breakfast. But something didn't feel right. He knew it the moment he woke up. He would be going through the motions yet again. He'd done it for decades, but for the first time he wondered what was the point? Why was he doing it? What was his purpose? For awhile after he'd changed his identity, it was merely a matter of principal. He had to survive, because he just couldn't be selfish enough to die. Even if there was no one waiting for him. He was too _stubborn_ to die. And that was enough to keep him going.

Then his baka deshi came back for more training. Going through the motions had taken on a new meaning. There was someone out there. Who cared if it was the stupid boy he'd trained ten years ago? Hiko Seijuro discovered that if he died, it would still matter to someone. Hiko couldn't even convince himself he was being used by the little fool. Kenshin came back. Now for information. Now for help. And, the times that had surprised Hiko the most, now and then with a jug of sake to simply talk.

And because of this, Hiko had always woken up with some purpose. He had to go through the motions of that day in case someone should come. His skill or wisdom might be needed. Or Kenshin might just need someone to talk to. Someone who understood the weight that murder puts on the body, and the weight of responsibility. Someone who could occasionally remind Kenshin that his own life mattered as much as anyone else's.

But that morning, the purpose seemed to be missing. It had become nothing more than going through the motions once again. And he didn't know what had made that day feel so different.

Hiko ate breakfast and had a drink of sake. Sitting in his hut amidst the pottery, he looked up at the sword on the wall. It was the katana he'd first taught Kenshin with. The stupid boy had never seemed to realize it was still up there. A tribute to his baka.

Hiko closed his eyes and drank more sake. And then he knew. What was wrong. What didn't fit. The strain he'd been feeling all morning.

The connection he'd felt since he'd first met the boy, Shinta, severed at the same moment the support holding the katana on the wall also cracked. Hiko's eyes snapped open in time to see the blade clatter uselessly to the floor.

And he _knew_.

"No." It was a whisper. That was all he could muster.

His hand went to his face. He'd have been ashamed of its tremble, if he'd have been able to care.

"No."

Hiko Seijuro, in that moment, knew that Himura Kenshin, the one time hitokiri Battousai, his baka deshi, had finally died.

"NOOO!" The roar exploded out of him. Hiko, who had not shown true anger since before he'd ever even met Kenshin, was on his feet in the small potter's hut. His already large, muscular frame seeming to grow. He grabbed a small pot and smashed it against the wall. It shattered pleasantly. He ripped a shelf covered in pottery right off of the wall and threw it at the door. Shards of pottery exploded in all directions. Hiko didn't even bother blocking the bits that came back and cut him. The pain just fueled his anger.

What _right_ did Kenshin have to die? What stupid fight had he been talked into? Kenshin should _know_ better. He certainly wasn't old, but the boy was no longer young. They had actually discussed this over their last cup of sake. Kenshin had admitted that faced with the modern era, and with his gradually diminishing strength, he was grateful to be able to live a peaceful life. What bastard had taken that from him?

Another shelf of pottery shattered against the wall. Followed by another. And another.

Why?

Why now?

Why _his _baka deshi?

* * *

It was late afternoon, four days later before Yahiko managed to get to Kyoto. In all of the confusion, with Sanoske trying to comfort Megumi, and himself trying to help Kaoru, it was amazing that any of them had thought of it at all. It was actually Misao, who had come for Kenshin's funeral who had mentioned him and brought them to their senses. Yes, they had all loved Kenshin. Yes, they all missed him dearly, but hadn't _any_ of them managed to stop being selfish long enough to contact Hiko Seijuro, Kenshin's master? It had been amazing how that woman's words had brought silence. Amazing how she'd managed to still look outraged while sobbing for her lost friend, Himura.

And of course Misao was right. If they had even told her that Hiko didn't know, she could have passed along a message. But it was late, and nothing short of a personal message from someone who had been there would really have done anyway. Kenshin had said it many times, if not to his master's face, Seijuro Hiko was like a father to him.

So, here Yahiko was, entering a clearing in the forest where the modest potter's hut was located. Yahiko didn't want to be the one to break the news to the older man.

As he neared the hut, something seemed wrong. There was no fire in the kiln. And there were shards of broken pottery scattered everywhere.

Yahiko's eyes widened. No. Not him, too. The young man burst through the door, breathing hard. What he saw made him skid to a stop. Inside, among the scattered shards of broken shelves and shattered pottery, Hiko sat, calmly drinking from a jug of sake. Yahiko was dumbfounded. Then he saw the katana, and met Hiko's eyes.

"You already know."

Hiko took another swig of the sake and nodded.

"How?"

The older man's eyes darkened. "It doesn't matter. I've known for four days."

"What?" Yahiko didn't know how to react. This was impossible. "Kenshin... it—it happened four days ago. How could you have..."

Hiko's eyes flashed and he rose to his full height. "How could I know? How could I _not_ know when my baka deshi died?"

They stood, staring at each other for a full minute before Hiko finally continued. "Who did it?"

Yahiko shook his head. None of this was making any sense. "Who did what?"

Hiko's eyes narrowed. "Who killed him? What idiot tried to use him again? What possessed him to _do this_?"

Yahiko paled. So, Hiko didn't know everything. "No one," the young man replied softly.

"What?"

Yahiko met his eyes. For once there was none of his defiance. Only sadness. "No one defeated him. No one used him. No one killed him." He took a steadying breath, refusing to cry in front of this man whom Kenshin had held in such respect. "Kenshin just didn't wake up." He looked at Hiko, his eyes begging the older man to understand.

But Hiko didn't. Or wouldn't. "He... what?"

"He died in his sleep."

"He was hardly fifty..." Hiko took a step back, wanting to deny it.

This was the hard part. Yahiko swallowed. Why had he taken this job? At the time this had seemed easier than Kaoru, Megumi and Misao. But now he was thinking that Sanosuke had gotten the better job. Yahiko hated this. He didn't want to see Kenshin's master break down. The devastation in the hut and the child's katana were bad enough.

He took a deep breath. "Megumi looked him over. He died of heart failure." He rushed on before Hiko could speak. "I guess Megumi saw it coming and tried to warn Kenshin, but he wouldn't let her tell us anything. Nothing could stop it, and he didn't want us to worry. She said he'd pushed his body so hard for so long that it finally just gave up." Yahiko closed his eyes. "He died in his sleep. He was... he looked... peaceful."

Hiko's eyes were on the floor. "I see."

There was an awkward silence as neither man could look at the other, each lost in his own thoughts about their missing friend.

Finally, Yahiko turned to leave. "I should—"

"Here."

Yahiko turned to see Hiko handing him some sake.

The older man looked pained, but there was something akin to hope in his eyes. "Before you go, have one drink for my baka deshi."

Yahiko nodded and took the cup. "Thank you."

Hiko drank his own. "So, he looked peaceful? That's something. He lived a longer life than his years accounted for."

Yahiko looked toward Hiko's face. There finally seemed to be peace on it. "I should be going."

Hiko only nodded.

Yahiko left.

* * *

Hiko stepped into the clearing, much as he had forty years ago. The wooden crosses were gone, rotted away with time and weather. Things change. It was the way of the world. Hiko made his way to the center of the clearing and found what he was looking for. Three worn, moss covered stones. In front of them was a forth stone that Hiko had added that morning, before returning to his hut for a jug of his best sake.

Hiko's hands were worn and bruised from having to dig around in all of the undergrowth to find these special stones. He looked at his hands and had to smile. Another reminder of the stupid boy who had never ceased to amaze him. Whose small hands had also been bruised and bloodied after a week of burying murderers and victims alike.

Hiko opened the sake and poured it on the four stones, repeating the words he'd said all those years ago. "No one should reach Nirvana without the taste of good sake on his lips."

He closed his eyes and listened to the wind blowing the leaves around him.

He could hear Kenshin's response. And whether it was a memory or a comforting spirit, it finally put Hiko Seijuro's mind at peace. Hiko could _hear _it.

"Thank you..."

* * *

_Author's Note: --mild spoiler here—Now that you all probably think I'm a morbid sicko, allow me to explain where the idea came from. I'm an avid watcher of _Rurouni Kenshin_ and the _Samurai X_ OVAs. I have only recently finished the Kyoto arc as well as having watched _Trust and Betrayal: Director's Cut_. I was instantly drawn into not only Hiko Seijuro's character, but also the character of Shinta/Kenshin, and their relationship. At the end of the Kyoto arc, Megumi mentions that Kenshin can't keep this up forever. It made me wonder how he'd die, and how Hiko would react... This was the result. Please review! I'd love to know if anyone sees these characters as I do!_


	2. Fireflies

**Disclaimer**: _I have no rights to_ Kenshin _or_ Samurai X. Please... _feel free to review this. I would like your thoughts..._

_Author's Note:_

_Yeah, those of you who read this chapter before, I'm sure have noticed the deletion of a rather lengthy author's note. I think I made my point, so I felt the need to finally cut it out (not to mention the fact that a mild paranoia that this fanfiction site would pull the story, because of it). So, here's a short author's note, for those who didn't read the last one. I have now finished the series and viewed all of the OVAs. (Something I hadn't done when I'd written "The Price of Peace" chapter.) I think my story still could stand as a continuation of _Reflections_ OVA storyline, so I insist, please don't call this an AU. Call it just about anything you like, but not AU._

_Thanks!

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_

**Fireflies**

She watched as though from a distance, feeling like a hollow shell. Something that Yahiko had once said to her in his naïve youth came to mind, as she watched the young man hug Kaoru. "What good are doctors if you can't fix everything?" He'd said it when Yutaro had lost the use of his sword arm, but it seemed appropriate now. What use indeed?

Kenshin's body was laid out inside the dojo. No one seemed to notice when Megumi got up, slipped inside and knelt beside him. There was peace on his face. She knew that. She could see it. He had died at peace with himself. And that was a gift. She was sure he'd never dreamt it possible. She could make that call. In some ways the hitokiri and the opium maker were very similar. As were the rurouni and the doctor. That was probably why he'd needed Kaoru to love more than her. She could accept that.

She brushed a bit of the shaggy red hair out of his face, a thread or two of silver glinting as light from the setting sun passed over it, out of place on a face that still looked too young.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting the tears fall. He had saved her. More than once, he had saved her life and her soul. And there had been nothing she could do for him in the end.

She was different than the others. They had all loved Kenshin. They'd loved him for his kindness, his strength, his abilities. But the others had seen him as a hero as well. He could be beaten within an inch of his life. He could be shot, stabbed, blinded. It didn't matter. Nothing kept him down. Nothing could kill him.

And that was the difference. That was what had set Kenshin and herself apart from the others. They shared a secret. It wasn't his abilities that kept him alive, or his godlike speed, or anything else that the battousai had possessed. His strength was something that there weren't words for. His body could fail. His mind could fail. But he'd still be Kenshin, because of something inside of him that made up his very being. He wasn't immortal. Both of them knew it. And he had never been in denial about it, as she had once suspected. After he'd nearly died in Kyoto, she had confronted him.

_He'd let her talk, and when she was done, he'd sat there quietly, looking out the window. Watching the fireflies blink in the night._

_Finally, he'd spoken. "Do you see the fireflies? They're beautiful tonight."_

_Even in her irritation, she'd had to agree with him._

_He'd smiled at her. "Fireflies are strange things, that they are." His eyes closed, and he tilted his head back. "I can't remember how many times I spilled blood under their glow. They were comforting. Even as I felt myself changing, they stayed the same, always there. But they aren't immortal. They're just small creatures with short lives. We never really see them. We only remember them by where we last see their light." His lavender eyes opened and his expression softened. "I am a firefly, I think. That I am."_

Megumi slipped back into the present, opening her eyes and watching over him as the shadows spread. This wasn't the man who spoke of fireflies. This body wasn't Kenshin. Not anymore. It was only the shell that once had held him. He was gone. And again, he hadn't even said goodbye.

She hugged herself close, it was dark, now. She would have to go soon. The others would only leave her alone out of respect for so long. After a long moment, she finally stood. Kenshin was completely hidden in darkness now, but she looked anyway.

Her eyes widened. A small green light by his face flickered, and blinked out.

The second time it flickered, was the moment it landed on her hand. One firefly.

It was there. Its light was out, but she felt it there.

_"Even as I felt myself changing, they stayed the same, always there."_

It couldn't be...

_"I am a firefly, I think. That I am."_

It blinked once more, and finally flew off.

She watched it until she couldn't see it any longer.

_"I am a firefly..._

_Always there..."_


	3. Lone Wolf

**Disclaimer**:_ Me again. I still don't own anything involving _Rurouni Kenshin_ or _Samurai X, _so if you chose to sue me, I would have no real money to give. Sorry. Guess you'll have to try another fanfiction author..._

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**Lone Wolf**

The officer quietly made his way through the streets of Tokyo. Today had officially been his last day as part of the police force, not that this stopped him from wearing the uniform or carrying his sword one final time. He narrowed his amber eyes as he made his way through the deserted streets, shimmering moonlight glinting off of his sword as well as the silver threaded through his black hair. Today was a day to end things: the police force, the name Fujita. Saito smirked. The day he and Battousai would end their duel... finally.

He approached the dojo, expecting Battousai to sense his presence and meet him. That was one thing Saito could say about Battousai, even as an idealistic wanderer, his senses had never dulled.

Which was why it was so disconcerting that he'd been outside for a full minute with no reaction. Saito scowled, disgusted with the idea that Battousai had let himself go so much that he could be taken by surprise. He snorted. Was it even worth fighting him, then? He had no grudge against Himura Kenshin. Saito and Battousai just had some unfinished business. But if the hitokiri couldn't be drawn out...

Saito finally stalked up to the dojo and knocked. Battousai had better just be away... Saito could leave a formal challenge, then, without feeling that that the hitokiri had become unworthy...

* * *

It took Yahiko a minute to recognize the man standing at the door to the dojo. It couldn't be Saito. It didn't make sense. Even though Kenshin and the former Shinsengumi leader had faced Shishio together, they were hardly on good terms. Saito couldn't be here to pay his respects...

Then he understood. Yahiko looked to Sanosuke for some reaction, but got nothing. Sano had hardly spoken since it had happened. Yahiko didn't push it. He stepped out of the clearing. This is what he and Sano were there for, after all. In case someone found out where the Battousai's body was resting.

Saito didn't even turn. He just spoke. "Where is he?"

Yahiko didn't hesitate. "In the dojo. You can go in. Kaoru isn't home."

Saito nodded, slid the door open, and entered.

Sano waited until the door slid shut before he spoke. "Why did you tell him?"

Yahiko shrugged. "He won't do anything to the body. You _know_ why he came."

* * *

Saito's eyes took a moment to adjust. It was so dark. Was Battousai still sleeping? He was halfway through another disgusted snort, when he began making out shapes in the room. Someone had died.

Saito's blood froze. For the first time in his life, he was hesitant. He walked slowly to the body, knowing full well who it was, but refusing to believe. Battousai had been one of the few people whom Saito still respected even in the Meiji. He couldn't be dead.

He knelt next to the body. It didn't make sense. He didn't look like he'd been cut down. How could he be dead? How could the legendary Battousai _die_? And even as he asked himself, he was remembering Okita.

"Damn." He didn't even realize he'd whispered it. But it felt good to say, nonetheless. What _right_ did Battousai have to die? What right did Okita have to die? _"Damn you!"_

He stood over the body, glowering. Suddenly, he shifted his glare to the shadows at the back of the dojo where he'd sensed someone sitting, as though keeping the Battousai company. "How?"

He'd expected to take her by surprise, but instead she answered calmly, "Heart failure."

"Damn."

He heard her stand.

"You can stop damning him, now," the woman said dryly. "I'm sure he didn't die just to inconvenience you."

His hand tightened on the sword hilt. He wasn't in the mood.

The woman walked up to Saito and stood next to him, looking down at the body. Now that she was in the faint moonlight, he recognized her as the lady doctor, Megumi.

"He can't die this way."

Megumi's eyes didn't leave Battousai's face. "That's funny. I thought you of all people would understand."

"Understand?"

"That he's human. That death could come to him as readily as anyone else. More readily maybe. You and he... you faced death all the time. Why the surprise now that it came?"

"Stupid woman," he said.

Her eyes widened and she finally looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Of course death comes readily. Of course he can die. Why don't you try listening to what I say before you assume what I mean? He shouldn't have died _this way_. He was a swordsman. He lived by the sword. He should have died by the sword. That was an honor he deserved."

"I don't think _he'd_ agree with you," she said softly. "He lived by the sword, because people made him do it. But he _chose_ not to die that way. He wanted to lead a normal life. The life that the revolution stole from him." She closed her eyes to mask the tears. "At least leave him to his death, or do you think that choice should have been stolen from him as well?"

Saito just scowled. "Don't talk as though you can understand Battousai's mind."

"I don't know Battousai's mind, but I know _Kenshin's_ mind," she replied. "That's enough." Her eyes opened and her expression hardened. "Hajime Saito, think, how would you want to die? In a bloody revolution or quietly among friends?"

His answer was immediate. "With a sword in my hand. I am a swordsman, and I always intended to die like one."

Megumi shook her head, frustrated. "And where is a swordsman like you supposed to find that sort of a death in the Meiji era?"

Saito looked down at Battousai's body, his hand closed on the hilt of his katana.

It took her a moment to understand. "You mean... you didn't just come here to fight him? You came here to...?"

"I never thought about who would win," he said scornfully. "We've fought before, and it's always come to a draw. It stood to reason that in the end we'd kill each other. I've always known it. But after Shishio, he wouldn't fight me. That stupid rurouni oath of his had to come in the way again."

After a long pause, Megumi began to laugh. At first quietly, but soon it was as though she couldn't stop.

Saito watched her, progressively growing more irritated. Apparently Battousai's death had driven them all crazy. Wonderful. "What?" he finally snapped.

It took a while longer for her to control herself, but when she did, he noticed that her eyes were completely lucid. "I'm sorry," she said, still chuckling. "It's just what you said. That his rurouni oath got in the way of your perfect swordsman's death. I couldn't help but think about something you said to him a long time ago. That he was a failure even as a rurouni, because he couldn't properly protect anyone without killing. And I couldn't help but think about how ironic it is."

"How ironic what is?" Saito snapped. This woman was maddening.

She smirked and looked at Kenshin one last time before turning away. "Just that back then he was _never_ a failure at protecting others without killing. I can't help but think how ironic it is that now, of all times, he finally let you be right. He protected you from yourself. And this time you _are_ right... someone _did_ have to die in the process." She walked to the door. "He did." She closed it behind her.

Saito was finally alone with Battousai.

At least the crazy doctor was gone. He put her out of his mind. But that didn't stop his frustration. And although he wouldn't admit it, he was angrier for Battousai's sake than for his own. Battousai had been a great adversary during the revolution. He had still been a skilled fighter during Meiji. And from what he'd heard, he'd been an impressive leader in China. But what did any of that matter, if after all this, he'd died as some broken down rurouni... if he'd lost his swordsman spirit in the end? And Saito had heard that Battousai hadn't raised a sword in China. Great leader or no, could he have done that with his swordsman spirit intact?

Saito stared at the body, pained. He remembered the last time he'd seen Battousai fight. It had been against Shishio. That time Battousai should have died. They _all_ should have died. But somehow the hitokiri had friends coming out of the woodwork trying to save him, buying him time... _dying_ for him. And Battousai had sprung back, more powerful than ever. Saito had seen in that middle-aged man the powerful teenager who had spilled the blood of so many of the Shinsengumi. His swordsman spirit had been so strong at that moment against his successor that it had taken on a physical form, gusting wind and shredding leaves. Those leaves had smothered Shishio's fire. That man, _that_ Battousai had been what Hajime Saito had been looking for. Battousai would have won that fight, even if Shishio hadn't died from his own body giving out.

Saito sighed, head bowed. That was what the Meiji meant, wasn't it? Great warriors dying ordinary deaths? Their bodies just giving out? Makoto Shishio... Himura Battousai... and how would Hajime Saito die...? A stomach ulcer?

"Is this what Meiji means, Battousai? Losing our honor? Losing our fighting spirit?" He closed his eyes. "Damn." It was barely a whisper.

He stood there for a long moment feeling the cool breeze blow in from the opened dojo window. He listened to the rustling of the branches outside, disgusted with the peace of the night. The sound of the wind suddenly gaining in force and power was actually refreshing. Saito opened his eyes and turned in time to see a gust of wind blow a handful of leaves through the window, straight at him. He swept them out of his face, allowing them to blow past. His expression was still unreadable, but he was somewhat unnerved. There had been something odd about that wind. The sudden force... only to return to this peaceful breeze. He turned back to Battousai to find leaves scattered over his body. There was something undignified about it. And as much as Saito just wanted to walk out and leave, he couldn't.

He bent to brush off the leaves, and for the first time realized that the Battousai was laid out with his sword by his side. It was that ridiculous sakabatou, but still, Saito froze at the sight of it. That sword had been given away. Saito remembered having damned the Battousai that day, too, when he'd heard that the hitokiri had softened enough to walk undefended. But it was here beside him, now.

"A sword to protect the weak." He sneered, but thought once more of the battle with Shishio. Battousai had fought well, but that final surge of swordsman spirit hadn't come until his friends had fallen. "Is that what you were, Battousai? Even during the revolution? Is that what you meant to be?"

Saito finally straightened, leaving the last leaf on the sakabatou. The rest lay around him almost as a tribute. "Maybe... you were always a rurouni."

Hajime Saito shook his head and walked back out into the black night. He didn't acknowledge the boy or the rooster head as he passed. He lit a cigarette, lost in his own thoughts. Battousai had died this way and he would accept it. If the Meiji had weakened the Battousai, he would have to tolerate that, too. But for the first time, it occurred to Saito that maybe, just _maybe_ he had to consider the fact that Battousai _had_ chosen to join the revolution to bring peace, not just through killing, but by _protecting _people. And if that were the case, then perhaps Battousai... Himura Kenshin, had _earned_ the right to die this way, peacefully, among his friends.

He flicked the cigarette into the road. He would have to think on this... But for now, he felt the need to go home. His wife was waiting.

* * *

_Author's Note: Okay, author's note in order here (although not as long as the last one... THANK GOD). I have renamed this story once again. The overall title is now "Those Left Behind" (which I hope by now you've noticed). And I've replaced the crappy old title for Hiko's story ("To Mourn") with "The Price of Peace." Yay! I'm finally happy with a title. Many thanks to for this title suggestion!_

"_Those Left Behind" was never intended to be more than a one shot. But then, Megumi started nagging me about how Ken-san didn't say goodbye to her again. And Saito - - shudders - - Saito started calling me evil for killing Battousai so "dishonorably." (I will have nightmares of a chibi Saito chasing me around hollering "Slay Evil Immediately" for weeks), so he needed a story as well to ... placate him. And now, he's griping about how I left out some important thoughts of his. So, as you can clearly see, this story is going to be a collection of short stories revolving around Kenshin's death. I hope you can tolerate it!_

_Time to go back to writing. I have a katana jabbing me in the back, and an amber eyed man, claiming to be a cop named Fujita growling at me to "do it right." I wish he'd quit smiling like that, though... creepy..._

_Please read and review._


	4. Lone Wolf Alternate Scene

**Disclaimer**: _Again, I don't own anything _Rurouni Kenshin _or_ Samurai X. _And I'm kind of getting tired writing this, so from here on in, just assume when you see a chapter in this story that I still don't own anything. If, by some miracle, I do suddenly receive rights to _Kenshin_, I'll be sure to let you all know!_

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_Author's Note: Since Saito was having such a fit when I posted the last story, "Lone Wolf," (because I apparently left out most of his thoughts), I was forced to include this deleted scene to cool him off. - - sweatdrops as amber-eyed cop glares - -Ah... yes... Anyway, on with the story! - - edges away from katana - -_

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**Lone Wolf (Alternate Scene)**

He looked down at Battousai's lifeless body. "Damn." He couldn't believe this, how could Battousai die? What right did he have to die? Saito scowled. It just seemed so _wrong_. Battousai was supposed to die as a swordsman.

"_Damn you!"_

He glanced at the ki burning in the shadows. "How?"

"Heart failure." It was a woman's voice.

Saito paused for a moment. If Kaoru wasn't there...? How many women had Battousai had?

"Damn."

She stood and walked toward him, commenting, "You can stop damning him now. I'm sure he didn't die just to inconvenience you."

Saito took at look at her. Never mind, it was just the doctor girl, ever devoted to her patient. He was a little disappointed. Brief though it had been, it had been an amusing mental image of Battousai with a woman on each arm...

But there were more important things to worry about now. For instance, the fact that Battousai had died in such a dishonorable way as having a heart attack. What decent swordsman had a weak heart? And what decent swordsman died without being in battle, disregarding Okita, who was an exception. Saito hadn't quite worked out _why_ he was an exception. He just was.

Saito scowled, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. "He can't die this way," he muttered to himself. He was tempted to ask the doctor woman how long Battousai had been dead. Battousai deserved the chance to pass on with some good wounds. Then at least he could fake having died in a good fight. Saito's fingers twitched on the katana. Maybe if he stabbed Battousai's body a few times right now, he'd bleed. It might work. And if it didn't, well, it wasn't like he was going to feel anything...

Suddenly he noticed that doctor lady was talking. Something about understanding. What?

"Understand?"

She was rambling about death coming readily for Battousai. What the hell was that all about? Of course Battousai could die. Saito had planned on killing him dozens of times. What did she think he was, an idiot who would try to kill someone who couldn't die?"  
"Stupid woman," he muttered.

She looked pissed. Good.

"Of course death comes readily. Of course he can die. Why don't you listen to what I say before you assume what I mean? He shouldn't have died _this way_. He was a swordsman. He lived by the sword. He should have died by the sword. That was an honor he deserved." He looked back at the Battousai, thinking, _"And I wanted to at least get a few more hits in on you. Fighting with you was at least worth my time." _His fingers twitched on the hilt again. Maybe he should just stab him. He could avoid the gi, and no one would even have to know.

His amber eyes slid toward the doctor again. Well, she would know. But if she didn't shut up soon, he was considering attacking her, too. How did Battousai put up with these people? This one just kept going on about life and death. She had no idea how close he was coming to killing her. What was this crap about Battousai wanting to be normal? That _rurouni_ little wimp was supposed to be _normal_?

"Don't talk like you can understand Battousai's mind," he snapped. He snorted. _Normal..._

She was off again. Didn't this woman ever shut up? How do I want to die? Do you think I'm in the mood to consider that? How do _you _want to die? I can arrange it...

"With a sword in my hand," he said, finally answering the stupid dying question. He wondered if those two dufuses were still outside. Maybe he'd take out his aggression on them, too. "I am a swordsman, and I always intended to die like one."

And this idiot had to screw it up. He caught himself just before he kicked Battousai's body with the toe of his boot. An annoyed look flickered across his features, and his eyebrow twitched as a thought came to his mind. It would be just like Battousai to fake his death and get out of this fight. He was probably just sleeping there. If he were kicked hard enough, Saito figured _maybe_ he'd get up.

She'd stopped talking again. He had no idea what it was about this time, so he just winged the answer. "I never thought about who would win. We've fought before, and it's always come to a draw. It stood to reason that in the end we'd kill each other. I've always known it. But after Shishio, he wouldn't fight me. That stupid rurouni oath of his had to come in the way again."

She was quiet for awhile, and Saito couldn't help but smirk smugly to himself. Not bad for having come up with that without even knowing what she was talking about. _"I should tune her out more often,"_ he thought.

Until she began laughing. Long. And loudly.

Saito cringed. He hated when women laughed like that. His wife laughed at him like that all the time. Usually before she pointed out how he was being an idiot. He hated that laugh. And this woman's was even more annoying. "What?" he snapped.

Oh, god. Here it was. She was recounting the past again. A little mimicking voice started making fun of her in his head, _"You said he was a failure. I remember you saying that _twenty_ years ago..." _Come on, were women built with amazing memories that were used only to throw things back in his face? Who would remember a stupid thing like that? A little thought bubble appeared over his head of a chibi doctor going on in that annoying mimicking head voice he'd created while a chibi Saito stabbed her repeatedly.

She was going on about irony now. He was finding it ironic that while they stood over Battousai's body, Saito was considering killing his doctor. _That_ was irony.

He let her talk, throwing it a little, "How ironic what is?" to let her know he hadn't gone comatose yet. Finally, the infuriating fox woman left. And he was alone with Battousai again.

Now, what had he been doing when the crazy woman had butt in?

Oh, that was right, he'd been contemplating stabbing Battousai to give him some decent wounds. Probably too late now anyway... Maybe he should just go home. This whole thing had been a bust. He could attack the rooster head on the way out. That might be fun...

* * *

_Author's note 2: Well, there you have it. Saito's deleted scene. I just felt that this set of stories was getting a teensy bit dark (yeah, I know... what do you expect in a deathfic), so I thought some lightening up was in order._

_On another note, I'm being offered little odongos if I write the reflections of these two young ladies... how tempting;) So, please stay tuned for a new story soon._


	5. Innocence

**Innocence**

Two young women stood before the simple grave. For someone so famous, there had been only a small group of close friends saying goodbye. The marker itself was hardly more than a small stone with a single name on it. _Shinta_. It was as he'd have wanted. He had no desire to go down in history. He'd just wanted to live long enough to see for himself the era he'd sacrificed so much to create.

And he _had_ seen it. In the faces of those who cared about him. And in the two little girls he'd been able to watch grow up in an era of peace.

Ayume and Suzame knelt by his grave, leaving a simple gift for him. Something he'd bought them years ago on a whim, when they'd grown bored during a shopping trip. It had never occurred to them that the trinket might have any value to him, but for some reason it seemed an appropriate offering now. A way to thank him for the role he'd played in their lives.

The women finally walked away, and only those few who truly understood the name on the grave could really appreciate the significance of the small wooden top resting in its shadow.

* * *

_Author's Note:Hopefully I managed to get across what I wanted. Thanks for reading. Please review. And keep your eyes open for the next wanderer who demands that I write his reflection!_


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